Stanza 1

The narrator opens with a poignant observation: "a war began" during her absence, yet she leaves us in suspense about her whereabouts and the war's location. She finds herself in Rome, scouring for translations of daily news reports through her friends. It's as if the narrative is eerily familiar, akin to scenes from films or commercials, where the surreal spectacle of televised warfare feels like déjà vu—yet now, the drama is tangible, and she is caught in disbelief.

Stanza 2

She ponders whether these haunting images are ones she has encountered before, perhaps in an offbeat cartoon or a vintage John Wayne western. John Wayne, the emblematic American hero, stands opposite the "sinister sheikh," a phrase Castillo employs to evoke the hackneyed stereotype of Arab terrorists. This juxtaposition paints the classic duel of villain against valiant hero.

Shifting to biblical allegory, the narrator recalls the apocalyptic visions in the Book of Revelation. As a self-described skeptic reminiscing about Sunday school tales once dismissed as mere fiction, she questions why people cling to these stories when reality is far more terrifying. These narratives, once perceived as the epitome of disaster, pale in comparison to actual events that have repeatedly plagued the globe. She finds herself bewildered by the persistence of fiction when life itself suffices to chill our souls.

Stanza 3

Venturing further, the narrator explores global conflicts that flare across continents. She highlights the Congo, Ireland, and Mexico, drawing attention to the 1998 upheavals: Congolese rebel forces seizing territory, Ireland's anticipated peace through the Good Friday Agreement thwarted by ongoing IRA violence, and in Chiapas, the relentless skirmishes between Zapatista rebels and the Mexican Army. She muses darkly on humanity's penchant for self-destruction, wryly noting, "It's only a speculation, of course," a barb aimed at those who dismiss forebodings of catastrophe with cynicism.

Stanza 4

This expansive stanza captures a heated dialogue between the narrator and an "Italian dissident." He scornfully questions the efficacy of great writers in saving lives or nourishing the hungry, taunting her with the question of what shield an American passport offers "when your American plane blows up"—a probable nod to the infamous 1988 Lockerbie bombing. His interrogation implies that she should bear personal responsibility for the war, aligning with Castillo’s theme of individual accountability.

The dissident paints a grim picture of African refugees in Italy hawking trinkets—predators waiting for prey. He probes deeper, asking whether they are villains or if those expelling them bear that title. Through probing questions, he challenges the narrative of oppressor and oppressed, asking who is the "last racist" if once-white colonizers killed blacks, yet now blacks kill each other. He questions the most egregious colonial actions: is it the Mexican authorities oppressing natives, or the white ranchers exploiting Mexican immigrants?

The stanza closes with the dissident's wishful thinking that the narrator’s pen might wield more power than any sword. He admits he is neither a writer nor a father, yet he dedicates his life to noble causes until his spirit or strength falters. Vivid details, such as his smoker's yellowed teeth, bring this character to life in our imagination.

Stanza 5

The dissident's fiery words leave the narrator grappling with the potential impotence of her literary pursuits. Chastened and contemplative, they sip wine in silence, capturing a "rat getting into the vat," a symbolic gesture as they sit at the vineyard once owned by the dissident’s deceased father, watching the sun dip below the horizon. These mundane actions underscore life's continuity—through eating, drinking, and safeguarding the future by protecting the harvest. Castillo uses the term “another” to describe the crimson sunset, hinting at countless past and future sunsets.

As the poem closes, the narrator returns to a world where the media obsesses over "sordid scandal," neglecting humanity's true anguish—where "surprise bombing over any city at night" stands as the ultimate scandal. Each "any" bombing is a violent intrusion upon us all, compelling us to act, to guard the "sanctity of the night." Such violence should not be an alien concern but a stirring call to preserve our shared humanity.